Eschatology
by Sarashina
Summary: Nagare is dying.


Nagare was consumed by Yatonokami's curse from the inside out. And always could he hear Yatonokami's laughter, cruel and triumphant. They both knew the truth. The Kurosaki family was dead. Only he and Rui and Iwao remained. There would be no more children.  
  
The children.  
  
Nagare's arms and legs twitched tremulously as another tidal wave of pain crashed upon him, his body too decimated to even convulse properly. He wondered if his son has felt this, this slow disconnection from the flesh as the end loomed close. He wondered if Hisoka had welcomed or feared it.  
  
Nagare laughed, but it was a rasping, fearsome sound. What would that boy have felt, to see his father laid so low? Vindication, perhaps.  
  
Cool hands ran a washcloth along Nagare's sweaty, fevered skin. Nagare cracked his eyes open to see the dark, blurred shape bending over him. The blonde doctor, Watari.  
  
Nagare closed his eyes again, "Will you have regrets when you die, Doctor?"  
  
The usually garrulous man was silent a long moment. Then he spoke, "Everyone dies with regrets. It's the way of things."  
  
Nagare grunted, "Sometimes..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I wonder. If I had done things differently."  
  
"...Best not to dwell on things too far gone to change. You should rest, save your strength."  
  
Nagare was amused. Save his strength for what? Yatonokami agreed most vociferously. The time of death was upon him.  
  
"When I--" Nagare coughed, "when I die, Yatonokami will be free again. You know that."  
  
"I know."  
  
"What will you do?" Nagare asked, genuinely curious.  
  
"Tatsumi will think of something. We'll manage."  
  
"Ah." Nagare let the conversation go, drifting aimlessly on that sea of pain. He could hear the two doctors bustling around the room as if from a great distance. Then that too slipped away and awareness of the world drifted from his grasp. And all he knew was beleaguered beat of his heart and the exultant, exhilarated cackles of Yatonokami. Then  
  
There was chanting. Screams, explosions, yelling too. But behind it all was a single calm voice. Chanting.  
  
Nagare opened his eyes. Below him was-- him. His body lay on the futon, jaw slack, limbs limp. The house around him was all but gone, torn away. Above him was--  
  
Yatonokami. The snake god arched up to the sky, restored to his power. Restored to all the terrific majesty Ren-sama had sealed into his own body, all those years ago. All those generations Yatonokami had spent locked away, a shadow of his former self, seething, hating, plotting. And now he was free again. Nagare knew his death would only be the first of many.  
  
But there was still-- someone was still chanting.  
  
"KURIKARA!"  
  
An explosion of light. And from the center of it all-- a dragon. It descended on Yatonokami like the wrath of Heaven. Then they were caught together, in a battle of titans. A battle of gods. Then the dragon reared back and let out a blast fire. Yatonokami howled and screeched. Then he faded away. Seared into nothingness.  
  
And Nagare found himself staring into a pair of familiar green eyes. The same eyes he had had to look at in the mirror every day, until Yatonokami had taken that too.  
  
Across the ravaged yard, Hisoka looked away first. He turned to that great dragon and bowed respectfully. He might have said something too, but Nagare couldn't hear. Hisoka had always been so soft-spoken.  
  
The dragon inclined its immense head in acknowledgement. Then it too disappeared, evanescing into the air like so much smoke.  
  
And Hisoka approached.  
  
"So which is it?" Nagare asked, face to face with his only son, "Have you come to take me to Heaven or to Hell?"  
  
Hisoka was so tall. He looked like a man. But then, the last time Nagare had ever seen his son he had been thirteen years old, staggering into the house in the red light of dawn, awash with blood and. Other things.  
  
"...It's not for me to decide," Hisoka said, "but I'll take you to who will." A minute that might have been eternity, then Hisoka extended his hand, halfway across the distance between them, "Take my hand, if you can stand it."  
  
Nagare stared at his son. Hisoka. Who had his eyes, and his hair, but his mother's chin and nose.  
  
Nagare took his hand. And the whole world changed.  
  
When Nagare had regained his equilibrium they were standing in front of a great white structure with a peculiar resemblance to the Diet building, surrounded by blooming sakura trees. Hisoka had dropped his hand and stood a respectable distance away, hands in his pockets.  
  
Rui had never permitted Hisoka to wear jeans as a child. It was somewhat strange to see the spirit of his dead son exercising the fashion prerogative he'd never had in life.  
  
Nagare looked over his shoulder at the building, "Here?"  
  
"This is JuOhCho, where the souls of the dead are judged." Hisoka glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, "I'll take you to EnmaDaiOh."  
  
Together they mounted the steps and entered the building. They were silent as they walked. Nagare thought of all the things he'd wanted to say to his son, over the years. Nagare wondered if any of it mattered. Nagare wondered if Hisoka didn't know anyway, couldn't just reach into his head and pluck out any thought he wanted. Nagare wondered if Hisoka would even want to.  
  
As they continued their passage through the grand halls of this JuOhCho Nagare became aware of eyes on them. A young girl with ribbons in her hair peered curiously from around a corner, a scruffy man smoking a cigarette beside her. From another doorway two white, birdlike spirits and an older man with grey hair watched severely. Farther along, leaning against the wall, stood an intense, dark-haired young man in a sloppy suit. As he and Hisoka passed, the man met Nagare's gaze with a look of challenge in his piercing purple eyes. Hisoka ignored them all.  
  
Then they stopped. Before them rose a pair of vast, ornate double doors, covered in such gild and splendor as had never existed in the mortal plane.  
  
"Through there," Hisoka said, his face averted.  
  
Nagare wondered if was because of the devastation Yatonokami's curse had wreaked upon his body and spirit; or other, older, reasons.  
  
"Why did you come?" Nagare asked.  
  
"It was Tatsumi's suggestion," Hisoka hedged.  
  
Nagare shook his head, amused and momentarily distracted, "Those two. 'Doctors', indeed."  
  
Hisoka made no reply. He simply stood there, waiting for whatever Nagare was going to do or say next. Just like when he was a child.  
  
"What do you wish for?" Nagare stared at his son, willing him to look up, "What do you hope EnmaDaiOh decides for me?"  
  
Then Hisoka turned his head back. Nagare was struck again by those eyes. His eyes.  
  
"I hope," Hisoka said softly, firmly, "you get what you deserve." Then he turned and walked away.  
  
Nagare closed his eyes, gathering his strength. He murmured, "So do I."  
  
Nagare reached out a hand to those vast double doors and they swung open at the slightest touch of his palm. Ahead lay only darkness.  
  
Nagare stepped forward.  
  
There was a loud groan as the doors began to swing shut behind him and Nagare whirled. He saw, through that rapidly receding sliver of light, Hisoka's back as he walked away. He saw ten million opportunities never taken, ten million regrets that could never be taken back. He saw a stranger with the shoulders of a boy, but who walked like a man.  
  
"Hisoka!" He cried, "I--"  
  
The doors shut. 


End file.
